


Wake Up Phoenix

by MohnblumenKind



Series: the White Eagle and the White Knight [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Cold War, Historical Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:56:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15834171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MohnblumenKind/pseuds/MohnblumenKind
Summary: Poland simply had to wake up one day. So there he was, sitting at Poland's bedside, waiting for the phoenix to rise again.





	Wake Up Phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> Time setting: It’s the end of World War 2, some months after the Warsaw Uprising (which ended in October 1944) and before the Conference of Yalta in February 1945. So this is probably in January 1945. Therefore, quite damaged Poland (warning, I guess?).
> 
> Historic references at the end.
> 
> Enjoy!

Poland laid on the bed, his skin as white as the bedding, only colored by dark circles around the closed eyes and violet bruises and cuts on his body. The skin on his face was sunken in so that the cheekbones were clearly visible, making him look fragile like a porcelain doll. The sheet did not conceal his small, bony body, instead it clung unnaturally on his form. A broken porcelain doll with golden hair, Lithuania thought.  
He had sat at Poland's bedside for the last months since he had recovered the lifeless body in the ruins of Warsaw. The phoenix had burned, bright and devastating for all the world to see and now everything that was left was cold ash. Poland had lead his men and women and even his youngest, most innocent into the war to free the city. Their life was a sacrifice willingly paid, even though their uprising crumbled along with the very walls of the city itself. Operation Tempest, the storm that rose all over the country ended in destruction, bringing death to foe and friend alike.  
Lithuania knew. He had been there in Warsaw. He had made a choice. Germany or Russia. Pest or Cholera. Fascism or Communism. A choice meaningless and yet so significant. And he would not… could not.. not _him_ … not _again_. So he had chosen Germany, because what else was he supposed to do? Like he had chosen to stay neutral all those years ago in 1939. Not that either had done him any good. So he had been there, in October, had seen Poland crumble. And his heart had felt like it scattered.  
Nations could not die. Well, they could, but they usually vanished like Rome or Germania, leaving the stage of the world silently and mysteriously. Sometimes – and these occasions were rare, yet widely feared – they would die in battle, like Carthage had. Proud and loud and ugly and utterly broken. But more often they would endure. A shot in the head would let their body go limp, collapsing buildings would break their bones, even crush their lungs. Yes, their body would be dead. But after some minutes or hours or sometimes days, they would awake. Because it was not their human body that kept them alive, but their people.  
Lithuania knew that Poland had endured death more than once. So he _knew_ the other would wake up. He had to. It was just a matter of time. Even if months were more time than anyone had ever needed. Poland simply _had_ to wake up one day. So there he was, sitting at Poland's bedside, waiting for the phoenix to rise again.

And he did one day.

The green eyes opened, the lifeless lungs clenched, coughed and breathed, ragged and shallow but steady.  
Lithuania was immediately next to him, leaning cautiously over the small body. Poland's eyes were wide, filled with despair, pain and panic.  
“You are safe,” Lithuania told him softly. He hoped that he sounded believable. They were at Russia's house and he would not deem that a safe place in general. But there would be no harm for the Pole so far. He would make sure of that.  
The eyes focused on his face. For a second there was confusion, then surprise and recognition. Maybe even love. And then anger, fury and hate replaced all other emotions.  
Poland scrambled back against the wall, pressing his knees against his fragile body and looked at him with his hunted green eyes full of shadows.  
“What are _you_ doing here?” he hissed. His disheveled blond hair framed the small face.  
Lithuania rose his hands as if to calm a wild animal. No fast movement, no loud noises.  
“I am here to help you. I have water. Are you thirsty?” he said, his voice soft and low. Short sentences, easy to follow. _You have nothing to fear_ was clearly conveyed. He started to move his hand slowly towards the bedside table where he had placed a glass of water earlier.  
“I don’t want _anything_ from you!” Poland spat harshly and Lithuania froze. “It’s water,” he repeated, looking at the blond man again.  
Sorrowful green eyes locked with haunted green. Hesitation on the one side, determination on the other.  
“I totally don’t care. Go,” was the answer.  
Lithuania did not move.  
“You need to drink,” he said again as if repeating would let the other understand. It did not work that way.  
“Ah, now you care what happens to me? Now?” Poland's tone was almost sneering if his voice would not have been so quiet and exhausted. From crying or screaming, maybe both, Lithuania did not know.  
“Po, I care. Stop that nonsense and drink, please,” Lithuania pleaded. He noticed his ill choice of words immediately because Poland recoiled and his eyes hardened even more.  
“Nonsense?” he hissed. “First you ignored me for years and then you let them destroy me. You watched how they tore me apart! And that’s, like, nonsense? Your water is nonsense!”  
Each word was like a blow. Lithuania did not answer. He had started to be good at receiving blows silently. And these were not even unjustified like the ones he usually encountered. They were true, yet so wrong. Was that even possible?  
I am sorry, was all he could think. Not that Poland cared.  
“And I’ve seen you.” The accusing voice was even quieter now, barely more than a whisper.  
When? Where? Lithuania thought alarmed. In 1939? Or…  
“If you think I will ever forget, then you are wrong. I have seen you in Warsaw.”  
Cold formed in Lithuania's stomach. Please, no. I am so sorry, Poland, he thought but he did not answer. He did neither deny nor explain it. How could he? It was true, he had been there. He had been helping with his men as auxiliaries among the SS, because being on Germany's side was the only option, even if that had meant being against his… not quite enemy and not quite love either. Whatever Poland was to him. Maybe both at once.  
And he had been the one rescuing the lifeless body of the broken nation from the ruins of the city as well, when the Red Army finally, at last, had marched forward, swarming into the remains of the burning city. But Poland would not understand. He could not. Until the end when he had run Operation Tempest he had hoped Russia would help him, save him, free him. The eastern nation had not and would not. Lithuania had known that from the beginning of the war. The only option to be saved was Germany – _he_ had come to liberate Lithuania from Soviet Russia, at least for a time and under conditions and repressions. But the brunette would not be able to explain this to the other man, so he kept silent.  
Lithuania wondered when their lives had started to be so different – next to each other, sometimes even clinging to the same cities and yet so very far away. Maybe that had started with the partitions, but maybe, that had always been the case, even when they had been married.  
“Go,” Poland said after what felt like an eternity of silence.  
And Lithuania left, leaving the water at the bedside table.

It took them years to reconcile. They both were hurt, yet Poland was angry and Lithuania mainly sad. It did not help that the brunette was limited with political freedom due to his status as a Soviet Republic while Poland at least formally remained independent. A satellite under strict control, always in the range of the burning sun, Russia, the center of the Eastern Block.  
Shortly later, Yalta happened to them. Borders were moved and treaties signed. The war had ended, peace for Europe. Elections were held – or at least they pretended. Pretended freedom, pretended peace.  
With the borders, the people moved. Westwards. A lot of tears were shed. Prussia – no, the GDR – had protested, albeit weekly. What do you expect of a broken nation? Ethnics that had mingled for endless centuries were separated for the first time. Mine and yours, now strictly distinguishable from each other. My Vilnius, not your Wilno. Your Poznań, not his Posen. It’s not Lemberg or Lwów but Lviv. It’s not yours anymore.  
For the first time in their lives, the multi-ethnic states in Eastern Europe were rather homogeneous. After millions had been killed and deported, endless lives lost in the burning hell of the camps and others forcefully moved westwards it was now clearly visible what belonged to whom. Poland had striven to archive being a homogeneous nation for the last decades, but not like _this_. Now, he looked with despair at his destroyed cities and broken people. Lithuania could only agree. His beloved Vilnius was quieter now that the laughter of his Polish citizens had died away. They occupied themselves with rebuilding what others had previously knocked down.

It took some time but in the end they started talking again. After all, Russia forced his comrades to interact closely and to form bonds. That, together with the increasing understanding of how much Lithuania was afraid of Russia softened Poland's fury over the years. They started slowly: A soft-spoken word in the kitchen over lunch, a small nod in the doorway. A kind greeting in the morning, a soft touch with a hand in an unobserved moment and in the end, even shared whispers of protest, of revolution and uprising. Because the phoenix would not change and when resurrected from the ashes there was nothing that could cage him for long.  
An uprising?  
Like in the old days?  
Together?

**Author's Note:**

> Warsaw Uprising: April to October 1944 against the German occupation. Very heroic, if you ask most Poles, quite tragic, if you ask me. But these statements don’t exclude each other.  
> The Red Army was nearby but did took its time to help.  
> The Uprising was part of Operation Tempest, which started in the eastern areas and moved westwards over Poland, always a step ahead of the Red Army to free Poland without placing it under Soviet control.
> 
> Lithuania ignoring Poland: Poland and Lithuania had a war about their borders. Since 1920 the latter refused any diplomatic contact due to his occupied capital. (See part 3: “Silence in the Three Cities”)
> 
> Lithuania being neutral: In 1938 after a Polish ultimatum they started diplomatic relations and Lithuania chose to be neutral when the Second World War started. (See part 5: “A Lithuanian Drama in Three Acts”) 
> 
> Lithuanian auxiliaries: There had been Lithuanian (and other) auxiliaries in Warsaw and other cities working with the German forces since 1941 because they were seen as liberators from Soviet occupation. Over all you see that Lithuania and Poland have very different experiences and opinions during the beginning and middle of the 20th century.
> 
> In my head-canon somewhere after the dissolution of Prussia, he became the GDR. It’s important to note that the areas of these two do not overlap completely – most important Saxony, which was a big part of the GDR but never of Prussia. Still, since the personifications can change their assigned land and name, as the albino does in the canon, I think that this fits. And even though he protests here to the new borders (because, come on, he had fought viciously and to the death to have as much of Poland as he could, it would not be believable if he now would be completely silent when his main land was taken away) the GDR and Poland later very quickly agreed on the new border.
> 
> City names: These cities are in areas where more than one ethnic group lived. I like to think that the personifications use their names of the cities to claim or demonstrate ownership. Therefore, they have to learn and accept the names the newly assigned owners use after the war. That’s the reason why I always depict Poland saying “Wilno” because during that time this city belonged to him and he thinks that’s how it’s rightly supposed to be, in contrast to Lithuania who never accepted the loss of his capital and thus uses a different name.  
> Vilnius (Lithuanian) = Wilno (Polish)  
> Poznań (Polish) = Posen (German)  
> Lemberg (German) = Lwów (Polish) = Lviv (Ukrainian)
> 
> The old days: There had been a couple of uprisings during the partition where Poles and Lithuanians worked together. I think fighting Russia's Communism was a common ground, so they both could befriend each other again.
> 
> I am sorry that this is another unhappy reunion for the two of them (like after the partition in 1920, see part 2: "Meeting Again"). I think the only happy reunion would be in 1990 after the fall of the Iron Curtain. Maybe I have to write about that, too, since I somehow need more happy Liet/Pol.


End file.
